Earthbound
by dragonsdeed
Summary: Natsu Dragneel is assigned as the Golden Girl's bodyguard after the sudden death of Jude Heartfilia. Natsu, coming from a nasty reality and brutal past, meets Lucy, who is a workaholic and restricted to her work alone. Things begin to get hard when "they" show up as Natsu and Lucy add friction. However, they might be the match made in heaven to take down the malicious FT of Fiore.
1. Prologue: Natsu (Part I)

**Author's Note: First of all, this is Nalu plus other ships like Gajevy (is that their shipname?), Gruvia, and Jerza.**

**Okay, this was originally called "Earthbound Companions" but I decided to shorten it to "Earthbound." And no, I am not referencing the game with Ness. Has nothing to do with this.**

**The whole idea behind this story is that I wanted a story where Natsu was something like a slave/employee to Lucy, and ta–da, this is the result.**

**I know there are other stories (probably) with some kind of bodyguard mix with the Nalu sections, but I have a lot planned out for this so stay tuned, people.**

**Oh, plus here's a chart for the character's personalities:**

**OOC selves –––(+)–––/CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT/––––(=)––– Canon selves**

**Disclaimer: Fairy Tail = Hiro Mashima's brain.**

* * *

**Prologue: Natsu (Part I)**

* * *

"There are two kinds of people in the world."

Gray looks over to me as his eyebrow raises, the breeze in the meadow brushing hair away from his face.

"What's that suppose to mean?" he asks, sunshine poking his eyeballs.

"One," I raise a finger in the air as watching him, "The people who look to live life as life."

"Two," I pull up another finger from the same hand, "The people who strive for something. They dedicate their mind and soul to a purpose and stick to it."

Gray's mouth draws into a line.

I stick a half–smile on my lips, "You don't like my theory?"

"More like I don't agree with it," he touches a hand onto his other's knuckle, "What if you're not in any category?"

"Then you must be something else," my half–smile transforms into a grin while Gray absently tears up grass from beside where he was sitting in the field of magnolias.

Gray pulls off a weak smile on his pale face, staring down at the dirt before him.

"I never knew you were such the philosopher, Natsu," tiny words mumble from his throat, his head lifting up to meet eye that were mine.

"Who said I couldn't be?" I reply with a flash of teeth sparkling out to the bright sun flickering in the corners of my vision.

* * *

There is a familiar suit at the end of my hotel bed I wear nearly everyday. It's black with only a white collared shirt to pair with it. There's a vest, pants, and jacket that go along with the black set. There's even a bowtie too.

I sit at the edge of my unmade bed, my hair in a mess. There is a bottle of hair dye in my hand.

I look in the mirror across from me, hanging lightly on the wall. Black hair, matted and tousled from sleep on my head. I jerked my head back.

Standing up from my bed, I make my way to the bathroom to my left and turn on the sink faucet. I dip my head under it and let water drench my hair until all of it is soaked.

I lift my head and stare at the reflection drawn on the mirror. There is a boy with his black hair wet with water and is shirtless. Most importantly, there is something in his hand.

The bottle of dye in my hair, I open it with my thumb and raise it above my hair where it touches the roots of my hair. I push on the button on the bottle's head pull it down against my head where my black hair is. I make sure to squeeze my eyes shut and focus on breathing.

* * *

I'm told my name is supposed to be Natsu Dragneel. I believe it is.

I'm told I am the type of guy to act before thinking. I don't know. I just don't.

Makarov says he first found me in a jail cell in the police station at the end of the hallway. He doesn't know why.

I don't even know why.

So when they said being with Lucy Heartfilia might help me get to know why I am me; I said no.

"Hi, I'm Lisanna Strauss," a white haired girl extends her free hand to me, the other holding a cellphone to her ear as she watches me with a bit of distance, "I'll be your train receptionist for today, Mister?"

"Dragneel," I nod my head as Lisanna eyes me dumbfound.

"Um, sir," she announces as politely as she can but the sassiness in her tone is a little too neon green, "Mister Natsu Dragneel has black hair if memory serves correct. You, on the other hand, have pink hair. I'm sorry, but what is your _real_ name?"

"Strauss," I frown as consciously running a hand into my newly dyed hair, "I _dyed_ my hair."

She blinks at me for a few moments before a light bulb flashes in her bright blue eyes as she jumps up, the cell phone in one hand being lowered while her eyes dart to the clipboard sitting on the counter behind her back, "Oh! I'm sorry, uh, lines are slow right now so I apologize for the mistake and attitude. I'll get your ticket to?"

"Magnolia."

"While you're there, make sure to say hi to my sister for me," she moves behind the counter, types a couple things onto the computer set up there, and hands me a piece of paper, "Elfman's not happy that she took up such a time–consuming job away from home."

"Uh–huh," my head nods as I take the ticket from her as she cocks her bleach blond head, her eyes lying directly above where my eyes are, "What?"

"It's different." she inquires with a dazzle in her irises, "I mean, your hair, it's like unique and kind of… salmon? It's kinda of pink and cherry. I like it."

I immediately touch my hair and ruffle it, "Ah, thanks, Strauss." I can feel it, that slight salmon that's not just colored in my hair but my cheeks, "That's really nice. I actually don't like the color. Gramps ordered me to do it though."

"Oh, I see!" Lisanna giggles a bit as a smile pecks her lips, the phone that was in her hand now on the counter while she takes a seat down in her office chair, "He must have been really mad about last time's job. It's probably punishment or something."

"Probably," I mumble, rubbing the back of my neck with my free hand.

Lisanna laughs again in her chair and shines her grin back at me, "Yeah! Anyways, I know you're not suppose to contact anyone at the agency on a job, but call me if you ever get a little bored and we can hang out or something. 'Kay with you?"

"Sure, Strauss," I nod for maybe the hundredth time in my conversation with the girl.

"Call me, Lisanna," she tucks her short hair behind her ear.

"Sure, Lisanna," I fix my language for her and twist my head to the clock lamp to my right, "I'm Natsu for now."

"Bye, Natsu," she waves off and spins her chair to the table to her back, stacked with paperwork, "I'll catch you later."

Something tugs at the ends of my lips as a perk of a grin shows itself to the girl as she returns it. I begin to walk away from her, ticket stuffed in my pocket, as I head for Platform 8 in the train station.

* * *

There is five minutes to spare before my train arrives. People shuffle left and right, heading different ways with baggage tailing behind them. My luggage is being separately transported to Magnolia on an airplane. I don't do airplanes. They make my motion sickness trigger so strongly that my medication doesn't do anything for me.

Plus, I like trains better.

A train–ish honk coming from the left as a locomotive pulls up next to the platform I'm on, along the train tracks.

I'm leaning against a lamp–post with my phone in my hand, constantly checking the time.

The train stops beside me as its doors open, only a few people exit the front cart and even the entire train. I count them with my eyes. Twenty. Twenty people rode a train from Magnolia to Hargeon.

When the rest of the passengers step off the train, a train conductor gestures me to go head and board. I do, strolling over there while slipping my phone into my backpocket and hop onto the steel steps into the piece of transportation junk.

Oh God, I feel it. It's there. The barf.

"Uh, sir, are you alright?" the contractor looks over to me with a worried expression as I slump on one of the train's rails.

"I'm fine, just take me to my seat," I squeak with my hand covering my mouth. The contractor helps me up and takes me over to a seat by the window, second row from the front. I nod my head sickly as he leaves me alone with sweat dripping down his forehead.

Immediately, I dig into the front pocket of my jeans and retrieve a small bottle with little red spheres in it. I open the jar and dump two out on the palm of my hand, quickly throwing them in my mouth and swallow them dry. I'm still panicking on the inside. The shifting in my guts are still tumbling uncomfortably. The headaches. The memories.

My hand is on my forehead as I turn to the window and stare at it, attempting to distract myself.

Marvel's medication is starting to have a negative effect on my health. I'm getting worse. I'm becoming immune to her remedies. This is certainly going to be a long, long train ride to Magnolia.

* * *

**Author's Note: So I'm planning to post three updates straight in three days, one for each day. The prologue is split into two parts that are set up in Natsu's then Lucy's point of views. Originally, I had planned to only use first person in the prologues then switch to third person omniscient for the actual story, but instead...the first person way of writing for this kinda stuck so now I'm using it for the entire story.**

**To tell the point of views apart, Natsu's chapters are the odd numbers and Lucy's chapters are the even numbers (unless I say so otherwise).**

**So guys, tell me whatcha think! It actually helps a lot!~**


	2. Prologue: Lucy (Part II)

**Author's Note: This is the second part to the prologues. Have fun reading Lucy's thoughts!**

* * *

**Prologue: Lucy (Part II)**

* * *

One week ago, my father died. I'm not surprised.

No, correction, my father didn't _die,_ he was _killed._

The laboratory is my home and the only place I know. Plus, I'm usually the only one there.

The vials and tubes filled with different kinds of chemicals. My father was a businessman, an entrepreneur. And like most of his kind, he was cold off air where the media could not judge him. I can tell you one thing; he never loved me. Honestly, I don't have a problem with it.

We have a mutual relationship as strangers.

As a child, I did not understand this. I thought dads were suppose to be like the ones on television. Funny, kind, and loving to their family members, especially their children.

I had to find out the hard way this was not true.

My eighth birthday, postpone winter, I had made him a vanilla snowman made of bread and vanilla frosting. The day before I'd stolen items from the kitchen and read a cookbook on how to make bread. After baking it, I left it in the fridge so I could give it to him the very next day.

So there I was, an eight year–old version of myself standing before the big cuts of wooden doors that were between me and my father. I opened those doors foolishly.

He didn't even look at me.

I presented him my snowman bread happily, holding the plate over my head so he could see it better.

He didn't even lift his head.

I called for him persistently.

The fountain ink pen he was using, he continued to write with it on his paperwork on his work desk.

That entire time I was there, he said nothing.

After a while of noisily hollering for him, I set the plate on his desk with my little fingers and smiled, thinking that he was just too embarrassed to say he wasn't hungry.

_"Daddy, I'll leave it here so when you get hungry, you can eat my snowman!"_

You know what he did? He shoved it off his desk with his free hand and continued with his paperwork, ignoring me, his daughter and only one.

So there I was, my younger self staring at the demise in front of me. My father had shoved the snowman I made for him off my desk onto the floor and said nothing and did nothing but slap away the gift I'd made for him.

That day, the snowman was left all by his snowman self on the floor of my father's study, around the left corner of his desk, as I turned around and raced out of his study with tears poking my eyeballs.

I didn't leave my room for three days.

"Lucy?" Jellal's tattooed face pops up into the living room, scanning the room messy with papers, "What are you doing?"

"They want photos for his funeral." I lean back on the wall, still sitting on the floor surrounded by old pictures and papers with tiny words inked on them, "But I don't have any."

His face scrunches up, the anger inside him bundling up as he finally sighs louder than he was supposed to.

"Are you okay?" he asks as calm as he could at that moment. I stand up from my spot on the floor and curiously nod. A little nod I'd always give a mad Jellal.

"Look, I know this is bad timing, but my fiancé in Germany wants me to visit her parents and–"

"I'll be fine on my own," his eyes flicker to his shoes at my response.

"Lucy, you don't understand; that's not all," Jellal shakes his little cobalt blue head in dismay as he gives that little worried Jellal look. Eyebrows swished together, brown eyes darted to the ground, eyelids covering half of his eyeball, and a sheepish, pitiful pout to top it off. Though I was unable to continue my admiring as his next words slip through his lips, "There's this bodyguard from the FBI coming in because your father's dying wish was for your safety."

"Jellal, what are you talking about?"

"You know how your father was killed and all," he quietly stumbles with his now small tone, "In his will, recently edited it looks, all of his remaining sum of money must be put into the protection of his only daughter, Lucy Heartfilia, from being kill like he did. I guess he kinda saw he would've been murdered around that time."

"He wrote that?" I hear the desperation, the breaking, in my voice. Crying is something researchers say is the "uniqueness" of human beings; being able to weep because of some sort of selfishness in our genetics that cause the eyes to moisten themselves in reaction to emotions like pain or grief for no logical reason or purpose at all. The dictionary definition says nothing of use that could give a sensible answer to why crying is triggered by certain feelings from a person:

**cry** /krī/; _verb_

**1.** to shed or weep tears, esp. in the act of distress or sadness.

_Synonyms: weep, shed tears, wail, sob, bail, water in one's eyes_

"Not exactly. He didn't mention names or anything if that makes you feel better." Jellal, he was always like this whenever serious matter came afloat. Quiet, reserved, and considerate. More like he was thinking. Deeply thinking.

"Huh," I collapse my jaw correctly so my teeth fit perfectly onto the top and bottom tightly, "So now he cares about me."

"Lucy," Jellal's voice does something between a growl and warning softly as if not to hurt the fragile space where my father and I tightroped.

"Well, I don't care about him. Not at all. He's the one who stopped acknowledging me as his daughter. He and I, we are nothing but strangers. Call the funeral home, and tell them I'm not attending or contributing to the ceremony. He is not my father."

"He's your father no matter how much you deny it," the frown on his face grows as the fist on his thigh squeezes, "The blood ties in your DNA are irreplaceable. You are Jude Heartfilia's daughter."

"No, I am not." The pit in my stomach is digging deeper under my skin. My lungs do not respond. I can't breathe like I want to. I am not in control. "From now on, I _disown_ the man whom you claim is my father!" My voice is loud and louder than ever before. I yell at Jellal with a snap, biting at his toes like an iron snare for a rabbit. "I am not Lucy Heartfilia! I am an eighteen year–old scientist who has no ties with anyone or anything out of her research!" My eyesight is blurry. I cover my ears with my hands and shut my eyes to where I see black and splotches of orange.

I listen to a short silence before reopening my eyelids as a steaming Jellal stares straight at me before turning his cheek and leaving the doorframe of the living room, heading out of sight back into the hallway.

"Fine. Just be the stubborn little girl you always were."

If the living room's door frame had a door, he would have definitely slammed it shut out of frustration.

* * *

I believe my only place I belong is in the laboratory. My hands scatter to search for the correct pieces to build something, anything. The screwdriver in the palm of my sweaty hand and a radio set down on the counter decorated with bottles and written on sticky notes.

"It's too early in the morning to be working."

The only other person who had the keycard personally to the lab is behind me, her familiar posture memorized in the back of my head. White lab coat over her orange sundress and arms crossed as she leaned back against machinery, a leg propped up on it. A scowl on her face with blue wavy hair framing her hollow cheeks.

Levy McGarden.

"I'm picking up yesterday's slack from the newbie," I answer her, not even bothering to look up from the screws I was twisting out.

"Tsk. Exact same thing you said last time, Lu," she adds a bit of attitude to her voice, rolling her eyes. Levy steps off from where she was originally watching and stands to my side, peering over my work with the radio. "Interesting rewiring you're doing with the radio. What are you doing with it?" she slides up her glasses with a finger on its edge.

"Seeing if I can make a detonator if I tweak a couple parts and add some of the radioactive and modified dry ice." I fix up some of the wires together after I pried open from the radio's battery back using now in my hand tweezers I grabbed from off to the side, my voice easily explaining what I was doing to Levy on its own, "To activate any nearby explosives that are set off by remote control. It should only work with weak, harmless ones probably found around this floor so it's okay."

"I'm good with that," she shrugs and stuffs her hands into her coat's pockets, "Now what's up with your constant visits to the lab when hours are over?"

I shift my hands over to where the extra parts are kept and grab a what looks like the inside chip of a flip phone, "The lab is all I know, boss. It's the only place I feel right at. There's nothing for me to do anywhere else because some of the experiments I do need the equipment that's only found here. Plus, I don't have a permit to do whatever I want at the house with the neighbors around."

Levy breathes in air and lets it out for a moment, "Lu, you know what you need? A hobby."

"But, boss, I do have a–"

"Uh–uh," she put her hand out in my face, now twisted back in her direction, "I'm not finished yet." Levy waits another minute before continuing her speech with the strong authority she had as head researcher of the Blue Pegasus branch, "A boyfriend. And a life _outside_ of the lab. You can't just stick here in the lab where civilization can't reach you."

"I'm doing my job, boss," I stare at her in the eyes as she flips her bobbed hair over her shoulder.

"All you're doing is just messing around with equipment. If you wanna go work then head over to the beta–testing center and do some records!" Levy points out the door which is wide open with her other hand on her hip, "I can't have you here when we're on freaking break!"

* * *

Add the helium in the solution, and you get an alterative to poisonous gas.

Beta–testing hours are over, and Levy added some nickels to my paycheck. I swing my legs under the chair in the lab, an E flask of drugs in a hand.

I'm researching. My job is to try the untried and to record it.

There is a bottle of dimethylmercury in the back, or what's left of the chemical. I'm trying to fix out an antidote for it in its last stages where it's lethal. So far, I'm able to mildly sustain it at about two months of being exposed to the poison.

Then, I want to go over three months.

Then, four months.

Then, five.

Six. Seven.

A year.

After that, I'll make a permanent remedy to seize and neutralize the dimethylmercury at its source before it kills the person body.

Next, I'll see if I can make a counter–antidote so the dimethylmercury moves through the body faster and is able to annihilate the person that it inhabits within thirty seconds or less of being exposed to it bare.

I'll go back to the beta–testing center to do some touch–ups on the experiment over there.

Then, I head to the–

"You're still here?" Levy's strong voice calls from my back, her signature move of her arms foldings together, "Go home, Lu."

"I'm working on the dimethylmercury project," I tell her, scanning the notes I've messily written on my notepad.

Vegetable oil and polonium substance are to needed to–

"You're going home." Levy slams her hand on the counter where I was working, "I can't afford to let you eat up all the supplies here because, Heartfilia, I'm telling you that I'm on the edge of firing your ass off of Blue Pegasus."

"But, boss, I'm getting my–"

_"No,"_ she snaps as I turn my temple to face her, a little bit jumpy and stuck in her lecture, "You spend way too much time here. I can't let you go overtime anymore 'cause it's time for you to go on a hiatus from the laboratory! I'm taking your keycard, Heartfilia!"

Levy snatches my keycard from on top of the counter as I feel the panic itch at my throat. I'm losing it. I'm losing the lab. I'm losing my home. My only home. No. I can't let it go. It's where I belong. I only fit here. I am becoming homeless. What am I supposed to do? Fucking do something!

"You can't do this, Levy! It's my job, I can do whatever I want because it brings progress to our research!" The stress on my vocal chords are enough to tell that I am desperate as I reach out to take back the card, but Levy steps back, holding it over her head and away from me, "I need it! I have to be in the lab!"

"Heartfilia!" Levy raises her voice sharply, frustration and fury, clawing at its core.

"I'm not my father's daughter, McGarden!" There are cracks and growls in the words that recite from my tongue. I am desperate. Scared.

"Oh, really!?" she holds up the card over her head and rips it into halves, sarcasm hitting the pitches in her voice, "You are the exact _same_ as your father! Obsessive and stubborn!"

* * *

With a tissue, I wipe off the blood running down my nose. My left cheek is slightly swollen. Red is shading my nose and eyelids. The bathroom connected to my bedroom in the house has a mirror hanging on the wall. The sink is on to keep the silence in the house quiet. My roommate, Jellal Fernandes, wants nothing to do with me and myself. My keycard has recently expired.

These things are more important than my father.

A girl in the mirror is staring at me in the face with milk chocolate eyes, her expression blank and unconcerned. Her eyelids are puffy and spots on her cheeks and nose are reddish. A cheek is bursting with different colors. Her blond hair is in a childish half ponytail stuck on the side of her head. There is a very small possibly that her eyes are glazing over with glass. She is not happy, judging by the scowl on her lips and the lines in between her eyebrows. She is just a lifeless collage of patterns lined up together in an organized matter without lacking mental dystopia or vivid au revoirs.

More importantly, she does not have a father.


	3. 1: Let's Start Off With Tears

**Author's Note" Thank you for all the support everybody from favorites and follows to reviews and reading this story! Today is the final day of the 3 Days, 3 Chapters Marathon. I hope you guys enjoy the actual chapter one in with Natsu narrating!**

* * *

**One:**

**Let's Start Off With Tears**

* * *

I am stuck in a tree, Lucy Heartfilia is screaming and throwing random assorted items at me only in a quite short towel. Her face is pink; my face is pink. I am shirtless, outside the window of her two–story house.

Why is my hair pink?

"God, you pervert, get _out!"_ A bottle of lotion shoots at my shin and hits.

"Gha!" my throat slips a cry of pain as I desperately hang in the branch of a tree, limbs wrapped closely to it tightly, "Miss Heartfilia! If you're listening well, I–"

My hands slip as Miss Heartfilia's towel falls off her–

"Crap!" I scream as my body slams into the bushes under the tree, my soreness in my shoulder I landed on. There are tears in my eyes as I see Miss Heartfilia's temple peer out her window, her towel again wrapped around herself.

"That's what you deserve, creep!" her voice rings as she slams shut her window.

"Wa–wait!" I yell and try to hold her back but she is way too far away for my hand to reach her. But even so, she returns and opens her window again to stare down at me in the bush.

"What do you want, pervert!?" she raises her voice, wet hair slipping off her shoulder.

I fiddle in my front pocket before pulling out my badge and announcing to her, "My name is Natsume Dragion, and I'm from the FBI!"

* * *

"I'm sorry for hitting you like that," Lucy flushes as she averts her eyes from me, her hands neatly set up in her lap. Now that I get a better look at her, she is more than a blond headed beauty with chocolate irises. There is a big purple–black bruise running from her cheekbone to her jawline on her left cheek.

"Nah, it's okay," I scratch the back of my neck, trying to keep from directly looking at her like I'm suppose to do with clients, "I should've called or something before recklessly climbing that tree."

After my fall into hell, Lucy Heartfilia came down from the second story to help me up and has just let me into her residence, the kitchen to be exact. Now we are "awkwardly" sitting across from each other at the dining table.

"My boss told me to give you this," I say, remembering the paper in my back pocket and handing it to her, "Your father's other will."

"Other will?" she cocked her head as snatching the paper from me and eagerly reading it. Her hair is still wet, dripping over her shoulders, as she hangs out in her bath towel. I try not to stare too much.

"Yes, it was sent directly to my workstation asking me personally to, uh, how should I put this 'protect' you," I explain while absently toying with my pink hair.

For a moment, her face looks soft, sympathetic, as her eyes dart and fly over the paper. Like she was on the verge of crying. My hand tightens on the strand on pink hair its got its grip on. I don't do good with crying girls. Not at all. They're too melodramatic sometimes and just unpredictable. It's hard not to be sorta scared of them.

So what Lucy Heartfilia does surprises me. Instead of exploding with tears, she does something I didn't expect. Something I didn't see coming at all.

She rips the paper in half and cusses. She cusses at her father saying how "half–assed" he is and that he's just a "motherfucking lousy bastard with personality issues." "He's just some shitty piece of bitch material that's in major need of some rehab for his dickless bottom half."

I say, her language in smack is impressive.

After her bomb of cooped up emotions being let loose off of the suffocating leash they were on, Lucy sits back down in her chair. More like slaps down into her seat and leans forward so much that she starts to slip off it to under the table. Her face looks exhausted as she pouts, her half–opened eyes focused on something else that is not me.

I'm not sure what I should do now.

In my lack of response to her outburst, we set ourselves comfortable in the silence we've arranged by embracing the art of not speaking. She is exchanging stares with something I haven't bother to turn a cheek for. I have my shoulders tense, forcefully pulling them down to make me seem more calm until they pop back up. We don't communicate or even attempt to.

Slowly, Lucy moves her hand so it props up her cheek, elbow balancing on the table. My hand is motionless and still tangled to some hair around the back of my ear. Finally, she bothers to dust her eyes over my face with a bored pout of disinterest.

"Hey…" I mutter, eyes flickering over her bruised face, "You should change or something. You're still in your bath towel."

The moment I tell her so she burns up with pink as slapping me hard across the face, "Don't you dare look, you asshole!"

Quickly retreating the attack, Lucy races out of the kitchen, footsteps pounding in another place in the house while probably traveling back to her room to change. I gently rub my cheek where she violently hit me.

That hurt.

* * *

Lucy finally arrives back in the kitchen where I obediently sat and waited for her. She is wearing a skirt and tank top, her head now dried. I note her irritated face and crossed arms as she walks into the room.

"So you're still here?" her eyebrow raises while she sits back down in her chair across from me.

I nod.

She inspects me from head to toe now that she's in a way cooled down. Eyeing me from what she could see from my sitting position, Lucy takes her time in staring at me in this kind of "Are you good enough to even be seen with me?" kind of matter, squinting and leaning closer to examine me.

"Um," I cough into my arm as she suddenly jolts up, breaking away from her total a hundred percent analysis over my physical appearance, "Miss Heartfilia."

"Oh, sorry," she shakes her blond hair, shutting her eyes for a second, "I was spacing out."

I dip my head again politely, a tight appreciation smile that isn't really considered a smile because it's too stiff and, well, kind of insincere looking on my lips.

Lucy opens her mouth to speak, battering her eyelashes subconsciously, but closes it with no words to speak out. Lucy just darts her eyes for a moment into mine with a lost glitz before averting them away. A very small, _tiny_ part of me wanted her just to keep her eyes holding onto mine with that needy desperation still under the light in them.

I just feel something click in the chemical reaction to that glance.

"Hey, I wanted to ask, but…" I pause while her eyes shoot in my direction, not quite looking directly into my eyes, "do you know where the Sorcerer Weekly building is?"

Lucy's head jerks back in confusion as she carefully asks, "...Why?"

I curled my top lip back, pulling my head down slightly, "There's something I need to do there. Do you mind if you can show me the way there?"

* * *

I'm driving, hands on the steering wheel, as Lucy points out which way to go. According to her, the Sorcerer Weekly building is around this corner. She's tucking hair behind her ear as absently looking out the window of my car. My rental car to be exact.

I don't usually like transportation, but I'm not familiar with the area. Plus, cars don't bother me too much anymore as long as I take Marvel's remedies. Unlike on trains, they help. Kind of. I've already taken the pills, making it causally enough so Lucy didn't notice.

Even with that, I insisted to drive because the job is to protect Lucy Heartfilia at all costs for about three months, meaning we're going to be together for three entire _long_ months. So I'll be taking her under my wing for three whole months until the entire thing goes under the bridge, and then I'll be done.

"There," Lucy's finger points to a large building to my right stacked with cars to the sides and windows that just rise up and up to the top floor. I swerve my car into its park lot and quickly find an empty spot even though it's so crowded.

"Um, do you want me to go with you?" I stop at Lucy's quiet voice, a hand ripping out the car keys and locking the car into park mode as my other hand rests on the door handle, ready to pull it out. Her eyes are focused on her hand in her lap, her head hanging down. My hand bounces off the door handle and suddenly is patting the top of her head.

"Yeah, why not," I smile, a toothy one reaching to my ears.

She glances up at my hand touching her hair with a half–pout of disapproval but then just casually replies, "I've been dying to ask but." Her attention fixes on something above my eyes, in a curious and innocent manner. "Why is your hair pink?"

It's the question I've been concerned about the most. What am I going to say to it in reply is something I haven't figured out. I don't like my hair pink. It's really dumb. It's really embarrassing.

I hate it.

My hand freezes up, just about to pat her head again as it awkwardly hangs in the air. I open my mouth, moving it to words that don't go dubbed. The corners of my mouth probably fell because I see it in Lucy's eyes, mirroring my expression in their chocolate universe.

I take the hand that was going to pat Lucy's head and use it to hold the side of my head. I don't look directly at her again like I just did. It's bad that my eyes met hers straight on. My eyes flicker to the black pants that go along with my suit. I focus on that.

It's all that matters right now.

"Um," Lucy murmurs from her place in the car. For some reason, it feels like she's in another country though, standing beside the borderline that splits Natsu territory to Lucy territory. Then, there is a fence. A fence that draws the borderline into a defined object separating us.

I think I prefer it that way.

I huff, releasing big–spaced breaths, as my hand on my head travels to my forehead, "I wish you hadn't asked that."

"I didn't know it was a taboo," she talks nonchalantly. Her voice is the only thing I can grasp of her. It's not sugarcoated or eagerly bitter. It's blank and causal, even a little menacing at points.

"I guess that was my fault," my hand is now subconsciously rubbing my mouth while other hand begins to crush the keys in its palm.

"It's fine." she struggles to pamper me with her words after the pink hair incident, "I won't bring it up again."

We sit in my car for a few more milliseconds in absolute silence. My vision span is glued to my knee, facing away from Lucy, as she doesn't make any noise. I don't think she even moved.

"Can I just ask you one more thing?" my head lifts up to stare at her from the corner of my eye after her line of dialogue. She is facing the window, absurdly observing the car parked next to us which is a full sized red Chevy truck. Her hand is holding up her chin again, the reflection in the glass not even legible to read the words written across her forehead.

"Yeah."

She sucks in air into her lungs before reciting, "You don't need to be so stiff."

"That's a statement." I correct her, the keys in my hand jiggling together.

"Smart one." she comments, yanking the door handle of my car and exiting the vehicle with a grin, "Let's go inside already."

Lucy has a hand out to me as she stands outside the car, letting a breeze sweep hair over her forehead. A grin is on her face. It's just a little one, not much teeth being shown off, but nevertheless it's very pretty.

I almost take her hand before realizing, "Hey, I can't get out of the car on this side."

Lucy laughs as I exit the car from the door on my side.

* * *

Lucy and I enter the Sorcerer Weekly building. It's a model agency and a magazine company that shows off its models every Friday on print.

Lucy eyes me as we walk into the lobby so easily before a security guard stops us, his hand in the air in front of my face.

"Do you have your ID's?" he inquiries us in this hostile voice, his shades moving slight off his nose.

I'm about to explain to him that my aunt is a photographer working here today, and she forgot her wallet at home until a familiar voice interrupts my thinking.

"Hey, don't you dare touch him, Freed!" a chipper voice hollers from across the room as a woman struts over to us in a fur coat and heart–shaped sunglasses. Her long bleach blonde hair flows behind her while her heels click all the way over to the scene we're causing.

Lucy glances at me like I'm crazy.

A gorgeous woman has set herself up her to me, her arm slung around my neck, as she grins to the bodyguard whose name is Freed, "Sorry for the trouble, this guy is with me."

The white haired woman hugs me, trying to be convicting with her cinnamon flavored breath, to Freed.

He uses up a whole second before nodding with a slip of a sorry and leaves Lucy, the woman, and I to our own services.

Quickly, the woman snatches up mine and Lucy's hand and drag us outside the building.

"So, Natsu, whatcha doing here," her pretty girl facade fades away as she admires her nails that are painted red. Her once brightened up and ditsy eyes are replaced with boring, rebellious and gangster–ish ones that just lightly fling off the feeling of devilish.

"Wait," Lucy cuts in while switching her gaze between me and the woman, hopelessly lost in the situation, "How do you guys know each other?"

"Oh, hi, I'm Mirajane," Mira introduces herself with a dazzling smile then frowns again, "I work with Natsu at whatever he said he was doing."

"Lisanna says hi," I mention to her as she explodes on me, throwing her arms around me in excitement.

"Lisanna said hi!?" Mirajane squeals with enthusiasm and pure joy, choking me with her super strong arms, "Lisanna hasn't said hi to me ever since seventh grade when I came to bring her the lunch she forgot to bring to school!~"

"Uh," Lucy sweats as she takes a step back, "Are you alright?"

"Lisanna said hi!" Mira swings me in a circle as I steady myself by gripping her forearm.

As she thrashes me about, I start to get a headache and start screaming as loud as I can, "Mira! Chill _fucking_ pill now!"

"Oh, shit. Sorry," Mira realizes my current state and puts me down as I stumble back, bumping into Lucy.

Lucy holds me steady with her hands on my shoulders as I slump against her for support because there it is again. It has returned.

The barf.

I gag while Mira slaps me in the back.

"Come on," she grins even though in her eyes there are hints of concern, "Just a little spinney, spinney is enough to trigger your motion sickness?"

"Motion sickness?" Lucy rubs my back as my chin sits in the crook of her neck.

"Yeah, little Natsu bro has a fragile teeter stomach ever since he was this big," Mira exaggerates the story by making little me one centimeter tall, "He throws up and gets headaches like it's cancer. It's just _pitiful."_

"Then, how come you were fine in the car?" Lucy glances over at me as I groan and cough.

"Medicine," I manage to spit out, clutching Lucy's sleeve. This hurricane in my gut is killing me. Especially this headache eating my eyebrow. I think I feel this morning's spaghetti climbing on my tongue.

I grit my teeth, pulling away from Lucy with a forced smile on my face, "I'm...okay now."

Damn, I think there are daggers cutting the back of my head. A tiger is somewhere in my stomach, roaring and scratching its way out. For a moment, I consider taking out Marvel's drugs to use but change my mind remembering the train ride. It's beginning to lose its effect. It's better to save it for later.

I swallow my barf down my throat, Mira and Lucy staring at me.

"Ya doing good?" Mirajane cocks her head at me, her hand on her hips as her sunglasses slide.

I nod and uncomfortably keep down the rest of the puke in my system.

They just continue to stare at me with worried looks like I just dissected myself in front of them and now showing off my bloody liver.

"Anyways, Mira," my insides feel a lot better as I speak and try to shove away the sickness, "Elfman misses you too. Lisanna says he's kinda unhappy about you leaving home for so long."

"Ha, sounds like Elfy," Mira scoffs in amusement, a giddy smile on her lips as she examines her nails again, "Whiney and adorkable."

Lucy's eyes are on me as she bites her tongue, trying to figure stuff out on her own until ditching her clumsy efforts, "Hey, Mirajane, what do you do in Sorcerer Weekly? I mean like, what's your occupation over there."

Lucy's chocolate irises are eyeing Mira with that same curious, innocent sparkle that she's given me before. My tongue is attempting to nick off the roof of my mouth.

"Call me, Mira, please." the white haired woman bows sarcastically in her silvery fur coat, "I'm a professional and well–paid photographer at Sorcerer."

"Wait," Lucy breathes out in surprise, her focus bouncing up and down Mira's figure, "You're not a model?"

"Well, I would be if this wasn't a one–time deal," Mirajane shrugs, flipping her perfect hair. Mira from top to bottom is pretty. But she isn't model material in my opinion. I press my lips into a line, and I know exactly why.

"Mira works with me in the FBI," I lean toward Lucy and whisper in her ear as she moves her back to give herself more personal space, her head nodding as if she had seen that coming.

"Anyways," Mira pulls a corner of her lip to the side, making her look irritated when she's not, "who's this busty blonde you've got pupping you around?"

"Lucy," I introduce her, Lucy rolling her eyes.

"I could've introduced myself."

I glance at her over my shoulder and just blink back.

"Oh, feisty," Mira winks at me as Lucy crossed her arms, "So is she a job or she a?"

"Job." I coldly cut off her tease fest with one word, scowling at her. Lucy is strictly a client. I don't date clients.

Lucy is tapping her foot impatiently, interrupting me and Mira's idle chatter. Her head is swerved to the side, looking at something to her right.

Mirajane smirks, her hand in her white curls, "Hon, you better go. Your wife is waiting for you, Natsu."

I frown, waving off her taunts, as announcing to Lucy, "Let's go, we're done here."

Lucy's gaze hits me before she turns around, heading for my car. With her figure leaving, Mira stops smiling and speaks to me in a low voice.

"Did you dye your hair pink?" her slang is gone, and she is back with normal Mirajane Strauss, version two. A glitz of troubleness in her eyes vibrates, her hand on my arm.

"Master forced me to." my hand picks at the sickly gaudy strands of pink on my neck, "I don't even know why. Plus, I...dislike the color very much."

Mirajane blinks then giggles, "Oh, Natsu, that pink cottony bubblegum hair suits you really well! I don't think anyone else could pull it off like you do. Wait, maybe a few others, but you motherfucking work it."

"Oh, thanks," I pull off a smile for her as she grins back, gunning with all her caines sparkling in the sun, "That must be pretty good since you're a photographer and all. Or a fake one at best."

Mira throws me a thumbs–up as her heels click away back to the Sorcerer Weekly's front door, her fur coat tailing her trail, "You just need some self–esteem and acceptance. The pinky doodle hair's gotta me some punishment game, but stop by here whenever you feel shitty."

"Lisanna said something similar to that," I ponder for a moment before leaving Mirajane to herself as she fangirls about saying the same thing as her sister. Mira is a bit overprotective of her little sister, Lisanna, and same goes for Elfman ever since an accident that occur when they were younger. Or so I've heard. So in result, they tend to kinda treasure her like their favorite doll.

I jog over to Lucy to is now next to my black rental car with her hands on the trunk.

"So she's your friend?" Lucy tosses a question in my face as I answer her.

"Pretty much. She's the older sister of a girl I know." I tell Lucy, not sure why I am exactly, "Mira's little sister told me to greet her when I had free time so I thought to get it out of the way now."

Lucy watches me sideways, holding her breath, as if she wants to ask me something but doesn't.

I head over to the driver's side of the car, hand on the handle, but Lucy's voice stops me, "Are you sure you want to drive?"

I glance up at her, temporary forgetting not to look her square in the chocolate eyes.

"Since your motion sickness and all…" she avoids my eye, her hand on her arm as if she's trying not to scurry away in fright. I realize my mistake and dart my sight away from her.

"Yeah," my hand raises to tug on my hair, "you can drive for me."

She nods, something I find familiar as she switches over to my side as I head to the passenger's side.

"I call shotgun," I tell her offhandedly after opening the door as she sits in the car waiting for me to hand over the car keys.

I listen to Lucy shortly laugh as I throw the keys over to her, afterwards taking the jar of red pills out and popping two onto my tongue dry. I swallow with a bit of difficulty as Lucy reers up the engine, shoving the keys into the car's ignition slot and yanking it to the side.

* * *

We're halfway home to Lucy's house, at least that where I think we're going. Lucy's eyes are intensely gazing on the road, her hands holding the wheel in this weird determination.

On the other hand, my motion sickness isn't blaring up to kill my brain and stomach at the moment so I'm watching outside the window to my right, occasionally eyeing Lucy who doesn't return my glances. Actually, more like she didn't notice them.

The car is filled with silence as neither of us communicate with the other. Until Lucy hits a red light and slows down the car into a halt. The red light seems to challenge me to a staring contest as I stare right back into its demonic red iris, flashing colors into my vision.

"I have a question," Lucy proclaims as I break away from my staring contest, abruptly losing, to pay attention to her words.

"What is it?" I lean back into my seat, letting myself crash and spill onto the comfort of hard cushions to my spine.

"You're my bodyguard, right?" she tries to make sense of flashy words printed in the sky as I tell her,

"What about it?"

Lucy's hand moves hair off her shoulder, "You _'protect'_ me?"

"That's the sum of it." I'm not sure where this conversation is going.

She sighs, her hand lying over her chest like it's hurting because of motion sickness or something, "What's the point of _'protecting'_ me? My father's dead, and that's pretty much the motive of the person who assassinated him. What's the entire picture for keeping me guarded?"

"I don't know." Where am I going with this conversation? "It's my job to protect you, Lucy Heartfilia, and there's no point in asking questions to things that just happen. We're together, now deal with it."

Did that just come out of my mouth?

Lucy's chocolate eyes jerk at me with surprise, her voice seemingly muted at my sort of inconsiderate response.

"I'm sorry," I run a hand into my salmon pink hair with lengthy pauses in between sentences, "I'm just going to be stuck with you for the next three months. After that, we're through. So bare with me until this entire 'thing' is blown over."

"FBI officer who is my bodyguard for now," Lucy recites, her head twisting away from me, "if something even happens, which I doubt will, I promise I won't screw up your job for you. I'll stay out of your way."

"I didn't ask for that." Obsidian blaze is what I see when I let myself slip and be spellbound by directly looking into Lucy Heartfilia's chocolate, chocolate eyes. "I asked you to stay with me. Because I will always." I stop as the words I was going to sing to her with talk vanish and disintegrates.

The red light in front of us flickers to green as Lucy's attention is snatched up by driving. I frown, something sinking to the bottom of my chest as I attempt to regather the words I was going to tell her.

My chest is pounding so hard I think I'm going to barf.

* * *

My car is parked in front of the Heartfilia residence as Lucy and I re–enter her house, still with that lingering sustainment of words from me to Lucy. It's dusk and I can't see any stars in the navy sky. You can't see the stars you can in Hargeon when you're in Magnolia.

I follow Lucy into the living room as she sighs, thrusting herself onto the couch. The room is a bit messy. There's a bookshelf in the corner, its books looking a bit unorganized like somebody went through it in a rush.

"Hey, don't you have a roommate?" my head bends to the side, so that my profile is only visible to her.

"Jellal?" her eyes light up until she realizes something as they switch to normal, "I don't think he's coming home soon. We had a bit of a...disagreement."

I lean against the doorframe of the living room, arms crossed, "Are you hungry?"

"What?"

"It's dinnertime," I say, exiting the room to head over to the kitchen, "I'll make you something."

"You know how to cook?" she stunned at my statement as if it were the _"pigs do fly"_ theory.

"'Course, I do. I'm always out on jobs, and I live alone so." I stop before my mouth decides to let too much.

Lucy stands up from off the couch and walks past me into the kitchen, "Living alone must be lonely."

"Not really." I watch her pick up a pot from a cabinet as I arrive in the kitchen.

Lucy has a knife in her hand as she slices an onion on a cutting board, "You're still so stiff and–"

In a way, I'm hugging her from behind. But really, I've got my hands over hers, taking away the knife from her while my head is close to her neck and her back is brushing my shirt very slightly.

"I told you I'm cooking," I pull away from Lucy with the knife I wanted successfully in my grip. Lucy's mouth is dropping with this taken back, alertness in her eyes. She stays frozen for a second as I fiddle through her fridge until I find what I'm searching for.

"Wh–wh–why did you just hug me?" she stutters, her head tossed aside from my sudden glance directed for her.

"This knife," I raise the weapon in the air, the handle resting tightly in my palm, "I don't trust you with it. What if you injure yourself? Like I said before, my job is to 'protect' you at all costs. This counts too."

Lucy refuses to look at me as I remember something. That something is not to give direct eye contact to clients.

But for some reason, I don't look away.

"You're being too overprotective," she shyly gives into peeking at my expression.

"Am I?" I go back to pulling out ingredients and utensils to cook with, "If you really want to help out with cooking, turn on the stove for me. I'm making soup."

Lucy holds her breath before strolling over to the stove and switching it on. Slowly, her tense shoulders slump as she sides me the right things to use for the meal.

I toss on a pan a slab of meat and throw it on top of the stove. Yanking the dials on it, the bottom of the pan explodes with fire, engulfing it for a moment, as I catch a glimpse of Lucy's horrified expression before shutting the fire off in a moment.

"What the hell was that?" Lucy straightforwardly demands as I causally eye the perfectly cooked steak on the pan, replying without any hesitation,

"My cooking skills."

* * *

Lucy and I sit at her dining table, bowls of heated soups in front of us with chunks of deliciously cooked steaks floating to the top. We sit like we did the first time we did, across from each other.

Lucy is poking around with her spoon of the contents of the soup with this questionable "Is this even edible?" aura.

I take my spoon and dip it into the soup, pulling it into my mouth afterwards as Lucy cautiously observes me.

I eat another spoonful of soup, "You're not going to eat?"

"I don't think the way you cook is considered _'safe'_ to ingest," Lucy's cheeks puff out, her spoon pushing things in her soup around.

"Just try it." I tell her, eating some more of the soup, "It tastes like soup."

Lucy scowls, her head not raising to eye me with attitude, as she toys with her food.

"If you're not going to eat, I'm seriously going to eat it for you," I almost laugh because the same time happened to me when I took Marvel out to eat. She wouldn't touch her food for fear of salmonella.

She doesn't respond and props her elbow up on the table so her hand holds up her cheek. She pouts, disappointed because of something. I'm not sure what though.

I eat my soup and stare at Lucy, tracing out her outlines, "If you don't eat it, I'll force feed you."

Lucy jumps up in surprise, her eyes focused on me in bewilder.

We make eye contact, none of us backing off like we did before.

I take another spoon of soup.

"When I was little," Lucy's voice is gentle and double stuffed with melancholy as I slow my eating, "I had made my father a snowman."

I stop eating completely.

"I tried to give it to him to eat, but," she pauses, prying her eyes off mine, "he only shoved it off his desk, not saying even a word."

She tucks hair behind her ear, her eyes downcasted which show off the full length of her long eyelashes, "I had thought he wasn't hungry before he had done that. But after he'd thrown away my snowman and let it go to waste on the floor, I realized something."

Lucy is trying to tell me something. I stand up from my seat suddenly with my spoon in my fist. With one swift movement, I scooped up a spoonful of Lucy's soup into my spoon and shove it into her mouth.

Her eyes are fully defined when she widens her eyes in shock, flinching, but with the spoon between her lips, she swallows as I hear a very faint hic.

I blink as Lucy's eyes are glazed over with water. Holding my breath, I immediately yank the spoon out of her mouth and grab a napkin from on top of the table. A tear drips off her cheek as I press the napkin to the corners of her eyes.

Lucy sniffs as the water in her eyes start to escape, and I quickly struggle to wipe away them off her cheeks.

"Sorry," my voice mutters, my napkin brushing away her tears.

"No, it's not that," Lucy's shoulders tense as her nose and cheeks are dashed with red, "The soup is really good."

"I know," Lucy hiccups again while I lean over the table to catch her tears.

"My father, he never," she tries to explain through her sobs and hiccups.

Something is busting my insides as I shake my head, rubbing her tears into the napkin, "Sh, don't say anything."

I bite my tongue. I'm not good with crying girls. Lucy's hands wrap around my hand that has the napkin in its grip.

"I don't think he ever loved me," Lucy's tear are falling faster, and I'm afraid I can't gather them all up for her.

I'm shaking as I quickly wrapped my arms around her neck, pulling her close over the table, and stumble with my words, "Lucy, I, um."

She cuddles into my shirt lightly, her mumbles slurred with hiccups, "Me and my father. We never even had a proper homemade dinner together because he doesn't–"

"Lucy," my hand is combing through her soft blonde hair, "Because I will _always_ be with you."

Lucy sniffs, desperately trying to make herself stop breaking down, "Wh–what are you even–"

"That's what I was going to say in the car," I pull away from her, picking up her spoon on the table, as I smile with my famous ten million watt grin, "Now let's eat together."

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey, guys! Next chapter, look forward to seeing new characters and more storyline!**

**Anyways, remember to review because it tells me how you feel about the chapter which is pretty important!**


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